Okay
by OneFishTwoFishTwo
Summary: Fitz knows she's not okay. One shot, post 5.03. Rated T for some language. Short angst with a bit of romance.


A/N: Hello! I know it's been awhile since I've published anything. I haven't felt particularly inspired in the Scandal-verse. This is short, but is a good representation of where I'd like tonight's episode to go.

For everyone who reviewed and PM'd me about Jam, thanks so much! I have one more chapter that I wrote most of ages ago. If there is interest, I might post it at some point. Right now, I feel like it's sort of fizzled for me, but I really appreciate your support!

Please review and let me know what you think of this one. Your reviews are honestly the instigator behind me actually writing anything these days.

Enjoy. :)

* * *

He wanted her naked.

He was so angry, and he just wanted her naked and happy and safe.

He'd fired Abby. She fucking deserved it. He knew that she wasn't going to be happy with him, that he would probably hire Abby back eventually and that she was just doing her job, but he didn't give a shit.

Liv was being torn apart. His Liv. She had done this for him, and even though he couldn't even fathom asking her to take it back because it made him so ridiculously happy, it simultaneously made him so angry that he wanted somebody to suffer. The contradicting emotions were getting to him. He didn't know what to do.

All he knew was that if she was naked, he would know she was okay, that they were okay, that somehow this sacrifice was worth it because she was safe in his arms and not being picked apart by scavengers off on her own.

But she wasn't. She wasn't naked. She wasn't here. She wasn't happy or safe or _loved_ out there alone. She was just alone. And he was freaking out.

She was saying she was okay, but he didn't believe her. He hadn't believed her on that in days.

She had hung up on him. He had asked her how long she could handle it, and she had muttered a distracted, barely audible 'oh my God' and hung up on him. He was frantic. Frantic but still. He could feel his eyes starting to protest as they darted around frantically He shook his head warily as his door opened, and he held in the scream of frustration.

"What?"

It sounded angry. He knew it sounded angry.

"Sir-"

"Why are you here?" he asked, glaring down at the redhead and the blond.

Why was Liz even here? She was so focused on _focusing_ on what they could change when honestly, he didn't care what they could change. He cared that she was being dragged through the mud and they were just sitting back in the bleachers to watch.

He had wanted to pick up the phone again. Call her back. Get her to tell him what was going on and that she was okay and that she would somehow get herself here because he felt like he couldn't breathe and knew he wouldn't be able to until she was here. Naked.

"Sir, we need to deal with the Republican base. They're your backing. You lose them, you might as well kiss the rest of your presidency goodbye because you aren't getting anything passed anyway."

"I don't care about my _presidency_ right now!" he was shouting. Why couldn't he stop shouting?

"She's not okay," he said, and it sounded like him. Angry at first, down-sloping to shattered and quiet and worried and scared.

He picked up the phone and pressed redial twice, hearing her voicemail come through. Twice. She wasn't answering and if she did, she was going to lie to him again and tell her she was okay. He didn't believe her.

"Abby, you're fired."

She nodded, still silent.

"Call her for the love of _God_ ," he managed, running a hand through his hair, "She won't pick up and she hung up on me. She is not okay."

He waited. He could tell she'd picked up for Abby. He was pissed but he also knew her. She wasn't okay and she was hurting and she wasn't going to let him see it.

Fuck. That.

"Give me the phone," he said.

Abby handed it over, and he didn't blame her. He hadn't been kind in the last few days. He didn't want to be kind. He wanted her to not have made his Livvie out like she was some sort of whore. Like she was less than the brilliant, gorgeous, amazing woman he loved.

"What's going on?"

He could hear a rattling, shaky breath and he looked down at his desk.

"I don't know how much more I can take," she gasped, and his fingers gripped into his desk below him.

"Come here," he said, "Now Olivia."

"The press-" she started, as he knew she would, and he cut her off quickly and firmly.

"I don't give a shit about the press. Come in through Blair House. I'll get Liz to figure something out," he said, looking up at her. She didn't look pleased but she was also nodding like she knew how she was going to do it, "You're not okay. I can't sit here anymore and not make it better. If you aren't going to let me fix this, at least just… come _here_."

He heard silence on the other end of the phone. Then another shaky breath. He could tell she was crying.

"Okay."

"Thank you," he said, relief seeping into his voice.

* * *

Laying eyes on her was like air flooding into his body again. He wrapped her in his arms and breathed in. She smelled like strawberries, mint and Olivia.

They stood like that for a long time. Relief. It was relief. It was solace. It was _necessary_.

He kissed her lips and pulled her jacket from her shoulders.

Later, he wrapped an arm around her bare middle and pulled her closer under cream sheets and cocooned calm.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up at him with doe eyes, parted lips and full eyes.

"I am now," she said, and he finally, finally believed her.


End file.
